Bluebloods
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Blueblood. An old Earth term for nobility. Also a good term for protoss, all things considered.


**Bluebloods**

He had to admit, Aiur was kind of beautiful.

Key words being "kind of," and whether he actually had to admit anything was dubious. The Koprulu sector had been portrayed to the people of Earth as a desolate wasteland – a place of worlds where life could barely survive. Suited the propos much better that way, as there was far more romance in sending men and women to fight the good fight 60,000 light years from home when the fight was going to be hard. And, granted, it had been that way on Braxis, and certainly that way on Korhal, but on Aiur, on this jungle world, there was a beauty to be found. A beauty marred by the scorched trees, the destroyed protoss tech, and the corpses of zerg that dotted the landscape, but still, beautiful. Certainly more beautiful than a lot of places on Earth.

He looked at his spotter as he climbed to the top of the ridge that overlooked the valley below. Sutton looked up, and although her visor remained polarized, she gave him a nod. Aiur's sun was high in the sky, and he didn't want it in his eyes when he took the shot.

"Charlie-Niner calling North Fox, please report status, over."

Behind his own visor, he scowled. "Fox to Charlie-Niner, be in position in two, over."

"Pick up the pace North Fox, Recon Golf was in position five mikes ago."

"Duly noted. Fox out."

He grit his teeth and nevertheless picked up the pace. Aiur was beautiful. Up here, on this ridge, it was even more beautiful, since he no longer had to walk past zerg corpses. Still, he had a job to do. He'd known that since the moment he'd been shipped from Proxima to Earth with the mission statement of "bring those old convicts back in line, because aliens are in town and Earth can't stay on the sidelines anymore." Like, no pressure, right? Wasn't as if he'd barely escaped with his life on Korhal recently. Wasn't as if that had at least been against fellow humans with inferior technology. Not this world here against non-humans, whose tech exceeded even that of the UED. Wasn't as if despite his callsign for the op, this could go very south, very fast.

_Or down, _he reflected, as he and Sutton reached the top of the ridge. The drop, according to his HUD, was 810 metres\\. He doubted even his power armour could survive a fall like that. Granted, he had boosters, but they were meant for emergencies. Better to avoid an emergency in the first place.

"Cortez."

He looked at Sutton. She was looking at him, this time with her visor up.

"Have a codename y'know," he murmured.

"Sure you do. And when we take out the targets, we can get back to the whole 'normal name' thing."

Normal. He scoffed, as he set up his rifle, kneeling down on the rocky surface alongside Sutton. They were on the homeworld of an alien species – one that the UED could keep contained through the control of another alien species, while also bringing the wayward K-sector colonies into the fold. They were halfway across a galaxy from being "normal." Normal, back during the Centauri Secession Movement, had been him taking out secessionist leaders. This, however, wasn't normal. Looking through the scope of his rifle at the aliens below? That wasn't normal. Them providing shelter to the emperor of the shortest empire in galactic history? Still not normal.

"Targets," Sutton murmured, having set up her pathfinder. "Twelve of them."

_Thank you Sutton, I can count, _Cortez reflected. Still, she was correct. Twelve. Smaller than a platoon, but capable of taking on two and winning by their numbers.

He'd known about the protoss. Before leaving Earth, the commanders of the UED Sniper/Scout Corps had drilled into his head how the aliens fought. With the zerg, men like him wouldn't be needed. The tactics of the zerg boiled down to overwhelming the enemy through excessive force, as they'd done on every terran colony before overrunning the old Confederate capital world of Tarsonis in hours. He hadn't been on that planet, but he'd seen the tapes. UED forces scouting the ruins of cities that had been built up over centuries, left shattered in a matter of days. Protoss though, they were more of an unknown quantity. But what they did know was that they had psychic abilities beyond imagination. And of the protoss in the valley below, of these zealots and Dragoons, one of them was designated a high templar. One who could tear apart all of Recon Golf with his (or her, it was hard to tell) mind if they so desired. Which was why he'd been sent on this op. Take out the HT, then let Recon Golf do its work.

"Target acquired," Sutton whispered. "Range, nine-two-six metres."

Cortez took a breath and trained the scope on the high templar. His HUD had an in-built AI that would guide his hand, but he'd trust Sutton over a ghost in a machine any day.

"Wind resistance, light."

And on any planet. Steadying his breathing, he stared at the alien through the magnification. Grey skin. Blue eyes. Strange chords that extended from the back of its head. Golden armour that looked ceremonial as much as it did functional.

"Fire," Sutton whispered.

But it wasn't just the armour he had to worry about, Cortez reflected. It was those damn shields. Shields that had been the bane of the UED's existence at Braxis when the protoss had fought their way off the surface. They had the biggest guns in the galaxy, but that didn't account for much when their projectiles just couldn't get through.

"Fire," Sutton whispered. "Fire. Fire. Fire."

Cortez squeezed the trigger.

"Fire. Fire. Fire."

And released it.

An 8.11mm tungsten round tore through the air at supersonic speeds. It hit the high templar in the head. Or, rather, the area around its head. Behind his helmet, Cortez's eyes widened as a blue 'wall' (for lack of a better word) appeared in the air, the bullet hitting it, and not the high templar. The high templar which looked up at the ridge they were on. As did the zealots.

"Oh shit."

The Dragoons began firing, encapsulated anti-matter outright vaporizing the rock beneath them.

"Fire!" Sutton yelled. "Fire again!"

Cortez, trying to keep his aim steady despite being a duck at a shooting gallery, steadied his aim on the high templar. It didn't appear to be doing much, but he wasn't fooled. The protoss communicated telepathically, and he had no doubt that they were already planning on how to gut him like a fish.

"Cortez, damn it, fire!"

"Firing," he whispered. He pulled the trigger again.

It hit the high templar, though not in the head this time. Rather, it tore through its leg. He grinned as he saw it stumble, as blue blood splattered upon the grass. However, the grin faded as he saw a trio of zealots begin running towards their west flank. No doubt headed for the path that they'd spent the last hour climbing up. Only given how fast the aliens moved, and without the need for stealth, Cortez guessed that they had minutes.

"Recon Golf, this is North Wolf. Engage. Engage."

Sutton looked at him. "Cortez, the HT is-"

"As good as dead," he murmured. He began firing again at the high templar. Not with any precision, but enough to keep its head down. And with its head down, its mind would be distracted. And with its mind distracted, Recon Golf could move in and clear the valley without having their minds torn apart. Maybe.

"Cortez, you-"

He fell back as one of the anti-matter spheres impacted the rock nearby. The force of the blast, as matter and anti-matter reacted as the laws of physics dictated, sent him flying back onto the ground. He hit his head.

_Blue blood._

Blueblood. Not blue blood. Blueblood was a term Spanish nobility had coined. Nobility of a country that no longer existed.

_Blue blood._

Blue blood meant nobility. Protoss had blue blood. Protoss were above him.

_Bluebloods._

Recon Golf had engaged the bluebloods. Recon Golf was yelling at him, asking why the high templar wasn't down.

"Cortez!"

He groaned, getting to his feet. His HUD was flashing. Blood – red blood- was in his mouth. He took his helmet off and looked around.

Bluebloods. Zealots. Three of them. They'd already reached the top of the ridge. Sutton had drawn out a pistol and begun firing. The bullets barely got the aliens' shields to flare up as one of them dashed forward, cut off her arm, then before she could scream, cut off her head as well.

"North Fox, what the hell is going on?!"

Cortez could hear his helmet radio, in spite of everything. In spite of seeing Sutton's headless corpse slump down. One of the zealots charged him.

_Blueblood._

He grabbed his rifle and fired into the alien's chest. The alien's shields flared up, but while the bullet didn't get through, it did cause the zealot to stumble back. Not that that was going to help him deal with the other two, as they charged him, their energy blades sizzling. He-

_Shit!_

He rolled over, down the cliff. Hugging his body against the side of the cliff face.

_Boosters. Boosters. _He didn't have access to his HUD, so he activated his wrist unit. _Boosters, come on, boosters._

They were working. Enough for an emergency flare-up at least. Enough for him to see the battle below. Enough to see the plan go south.

An airstrike had never been possible – the zerg covered Aiur's skies, and the task force's Valkyries were keeping busy with them. Ergo, a ground strike to clear the path to the warp gate, and more importantly, Emperor Mengsk. But it wasn't working. The zealots were fighting. The dragoons were firing. The mechanized infantry convoy that was Recon Golf was fighting back, but the high templar, still on its feet, was making the difference. He saw one of the APCs be lifted up into the air and torn in two, before the same high templar let out a surge of lightning from its hand, incinerating six smiths in one go.

_No blood. _He raised his rifle. _Blue blood._

It was an impossible shot. But he was on an alien world, 60,000 light years from home, having got there through a combination of faster-than-light engines and cryogenic hibernation. He was long past the realms of impossible.

_Firing, _he thought to himself. _Firing. Firing._

The high templar looked at him. Maybe by chance. Maybe by being alerted from the zealots up above. Maybe by reading his own thoughts.

_Firing._

But it didn't matter, as the tungsten round was sent through the air. Through the high templar's head. Splattering blue blood in a fraction of a second before the alien disappeared in a flash of blue light, as its teleportation mechanism kicked in.

_Blueblood. _He saw the ground approaching him. _Shit!_

He activated his thrusters. Enough to slow his fall, and enough to catapult him through the air onto the grass in the valley below. Right by the corpse of a smith who, despite having had her chest cut open by a zealot, wasn't bleeding. The energy weapons tended to cauterize their wounds. But as macabre as that was, he kept down, and began to fire. Again, and again, and again. Against any protoss target he could see, as Recon Golf kept up the attack.

Maybe the protoss were bluebloods. Maybe they were the nobility of the stars. A superior race. Kings and queens of an empire that had once spanned the stars.

It didn't matter.

They still bled.


End file.
